The Greyjoy Rebellion
by Ambiguous Enigma
Summary: When Balon Greyjoy is crowned as King of the Iron Islands he declares independence from the Iron Throne of Westeros. King Robert Baratheon and his friend Lord Eddard Stark attempt to crush this rebellion. Taking place nine years before the events of 'A Game of Thrones,' 'The Greyjoy Rebellion depicts the short but bloody conflict that set the stage for later events in the series.
1. Aeron I

The waves crashed against the sharp black rocks of the island with dull roars, foam spraying into the air. Aeron Greyjoy blinked as a light spray of seawater splashed across his face. As per usual, it was a dark, overcast day, the harsh winds tearing across the island of Old Wyk, causing banners and cloaks to flap and crack. It was not yet raining, but a low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.

'By the will of the Drowned God, and all those that stand before him this day, I name you, Balon of the House Greyjoy, captain of the _Great Kraken _and lord paramount of the Iron Islands and Pyke, King of the Iron Islands,' droned the priest, his dull blue, green and grey robes flapping in the wind, as too was his long coarse black grey hair. 'Kneel.'

Balon Greyjoy did as he was bid, dropping to both his knees on the grass and rocks. His thin, gaunt face showed no hint as to what was in his mind, his eyes ever focussed in front of him.

'As King of the Iron Islands, I present you with this driftwood crown.' Tarle the Thrice Drowned, quite aptly named, raised the crown, made from rough, pointed pieces of driftwood forged together, and placed it on Balon's head. The pries took a step back and said, 'what is dead may never die.'

King Balon Greyjoy raised his head and echoed, 'what is dead may never die.'

'But rises again, harder and stronger,' finished Tarle. 'Rise.'

And so Balon Greyjoy, King of the Iron Island and Aeron's eldest brother, stood, his long hair blowing wildly in the wind with his faded grey robes. Aeron knew his brother, and he knew that he was, like all Iron Islanders, not one for style. Despite his crowning, his robes would remain the same. As would his hard, unmoving face, nor his fierce determination. _From this day forwards, my own brother will raise the Iron Islands back to its former glory. The Old Way; the way it should be._

Balon now walked past the priest and crossed the grassy and rocky outcropping, passing many lords and their banners. From where Aeron was standing at the edge of the outcropping, mere feet away from where his brother kneeled, he could make out the vairy green and black of House Blacktyde, their lord Baelor standing below it; House Drumm of Old Wyk, the white bone hand printed on red; the House Harlaw, a silver scythe on black, and all their other minor branching houses.

Standing next to Aeron was the rest of his family. Victarian was standing immediately next to Aeron, the trace of a smile on his lips, and victory in his eyes. _He knows he will lead the Iron Fleet._ Next to him was Euron; hard and imposing as always, but with a calm, passive expression to his face. _Screeching hinges._ Standing tall and proud next to him were Balon's two eldest sons, Rodrik and Maron, with their much younger brother Theon beside them, a grin on his face as usual. And beside him, though not looking like she wanted to be, was Asha, a few years older than her young brother Theon. Her hair was unkempt and short, and her chest as flat as a boy's. Had he not known her Aeron would have indeed mistaken her for one. And last of the Greyjoys, though not by birth, was Alannys, hard-jawed and suspicious-eyed. The once Harlaw had been to be growing apart from her husband for some time now, though nobody dare say it openly.

When Balon had reached the end of the lines of lords and bannermen, he turned and gave a short nod. Though nothing was said, Aeron knew what he meant. The affair was done. Everybody was not to leave. As the small crowd dispersed from the outcropping, Balon stood patiently, waiting for everybody to go. The Greyjoys were the only ones remaining, and they all made their way over to their new king.

'I'll be holding a council once we arrive back in Pyke. Brothers, you will be there. And you two as well, Rodrik and Maron. Alannys, you will take Theon and Asha with you now. I wish to speak with my brothers and other sons as we head back to the ships.'

Alannys nodded curtly, 'very well,' and she gestured for Theon and Asha to go with her.

Balon waited until they were far ahead before he started walking. 'There will be much to plan.'

Of course, Victarian was the first to speak. 'Brother, give me command of the Iron Fleet and I shall see that our enemies are crushed without mercy.'

'I intend for you to have command of the Iron Fleet. Aeron, you will also be in the Fleet.'

'What of me, Balon?' asked Euron, never one for titles.

'I want you to devise a plan that we may use to press our advantage over the royal fleet, which will no doubt be dispatched from Lannisport the moment Robert Baratheon hears of what we are doing.'

Beside them stood the Grey King's Hall, old and cracked bones making up the pillars and beams that formed around the hall. It was an ancient spot, and one that was not frequently visited.

'This is where it would seem we have one advantage over the Iron Throne,' said Euron. 'We have the element of surprise, and we would be wise to use this to our advantage. The Iron Throne will have no idea what hit them, so to speak.'

Balon turned his head to his brother, 'what are you suggesting?'

'I'm thinking that our first move should be bold, and hit hard. Victarian will lead the Iron Fleet to Lannisport, where he shall set fire to the royal fleet, destroying it in one swift move. The bastards will have very little support from the sea that way.'

Whatever Euron may be, Aeron thought, cunning was definitely one of them.

Balon seemed to approve of this suggestion. 'Yes, this might work,' he nodded. 'Victarian, Aeron, you will do as Euron has suggested. Burn the royal fleet to ashes in the sea, and then move on to the coast of Fair Isle, where Rodrik shall be rejoin the Fleet after having lain waste to the villages along the coast.'

'And what of me, father?' asked Maron, eager to be set something to do.

'You'll stay at Pyke, in case it should come under assault from the Iron Throne. I shall be there as well. Pyke has been my seat ever since my father died, and I will not see it taken on a whim.'

'As you command.'

'The Iron Islands will once again reave and pillage as it was by the Old Way,' Balon said.

As the six men crossed the field of Nagga's Hill, the rain began to fall and the storm rose.


	2. Jason I

He was shaken awake suddenly. Snapping open his eyes, he saw that it was only the young maester, Willem. He had a frantic look upon his face. Turning to the window, Jason saw that it was just past dawn.

'What is it, Maester Willem?'

'My lord,' he said out of breath, 'it's the coastal villages. They're being raised.'

Jason sprung upward in his bed, 'raided? By whom?'

The maester shook his head, 'we can't be sure yet, my lord, but a raven sent from one of the villages would suggest it's the Ironborne.

'The Ironborne?' Jason was puzzled. 'This can't be.'

'I'm afraid it looks that way, at the moment.'

Jason Mallister swept his legs over the edge of his bed and climbed out of it. He had not yet married, so he occupied his chamber with nobody, and perhaps that was for the best, as his bedchamber was round and small, the walls solid stone and only one window, with gave a commanding view of the town of Seagard and the sea below. This was the main reason Jason had commanded this be made up to be his bedchamber, as he had no time for style or comfort.

'Leave me, Maester Willem, I shall be down soon.'

Willem bowed his head and scurried off out of the room.

_Ironborne, _thought Lord Jason in disbelief, _how could this have possibly happened?_

The Greyjoys had remained neutral during King Robert's rebellion which had ended six years ago, a fact few lords forgot. Of course, once the Targaryans were gone and Robert named king, the Greyjoys bent the knee like everyone else.

Jason changed into something lordly yet bland and exited his bedchamber, passing down the winding steps at a fast walk, taking the two at a time. Once he reached the bottom of the staircase he flung open the heavy wooden door and entered the main hall.

Standing in the middle of the sparse hall was Maester Willem and Patrek, solemn looks on both their faces. Patrek was young, only ten and seven, but he carried an air of confidence and intelligence about him that made Jason proud. He will make a good lord one day.

Morning light poured through the tall windows high above, and a chill was in the air.

Jason approached the two men, 'you are certain of this?' he asked, looking from both Maester Willem to his son Patrek.

Willem nodded solemnly. For his age of five and twenty, a young age to be considered a maester, he was always quite serious and grim. 'Reports indicate as much.'

Jason rubbed his brow and closed his eyes. _Damn the Greyjoys! The sons of whores they are!_

'If this is indeed true, than the Iron Throne must know about it immediately. Maester Willem, send two ravens to King's Landing informing the king of this. I don't want a raven getting lost. This may not be as serious as it seems, but in the case that it is, I'd rather the king know of it.'

'As you command,' the maester answered and strode towards the staircase leading up to the rookery.

Jason turned to his son, 'Patrek, take three ships and investigate this matter. If you do happen to come across any Greyjoy fleets and they are more in number of size to your own, do not take the risk. Turn back for Seagard immediately. If you can handle it, however, destroy the bastards' ships.'

'Yes, father,' said Patrek gravely.

'While you're gone I'll muster the rest of our strength to defend the shores of Seagard. These bastards won't take it without a fight, you can sure of that.'


	3. Aeron II

It was near dusk when the ships pulled into Lannisport. There was a mild breeze and the sun was beginning to lower on the horizon, casting shadows all across the city. Waves crashed lightly against the hull of Aeron's ship, the foam spraying up to the deck.

Towers of cream and orange brick rose up from the walls of the city, its ramparts patrolled by men in chainmail and golden cloaks. The reflection from the sun glistened off their helms. The gates of the city were open, with townsfolk and fisherfolk steaming in and out of the city. Carts and wagons clacked over the smooth stone streets outside of the gates, and whores and soldiers alike walked it.

But the only concern of Aeron and the Iron Fleet were the royal fleet, a total of sixty large ships lining the port, its crew coming on and off the galleys carrying barrels and crates.

Of the entire Iron Fleet, made up of one hundred ships, Victarian had commanded fifty to go the Lannisport to set fire to the royal fleet of the Iron Throne. Only had of the entire force of the Iron Fleet was needed for the task, as Victarian would have the element of surprise on his side.

The shouts of "steer into port!" could be heard from the ships closest to Aeron's, so Aeron echoed this to his own crew as well. The forty oars on his ship adjusted the course to the where the royal fleet were docked, following the lead of the _Iron Victory_, Aeron's brother Victarian's ship, which was at the head of the fleet.

Another few minutes and all sixty ships of the detachment of the Iron Fleet had entered the port, and were quickly approaching the unmoving royal fleet. Shouts could be heard from land by the City Watch and townsfolk alike as they spotted the invading fleet. From where Aeron's fleet was, bringing up the right flank, his brother's _Iron Victory_ was the first ship to engage the fighting.

Arrows were let loose from the deck, striking the City Watchmen closest to the edge of the port. They fell to the ground, their pikes clattering to the ground next to them. The remaining City Watchmen turned and ran to the gates of the city, shouting out either orders or pleas.

The black-sailed _Grief_, captained by Rodrik Sparr, which was bringing up the left flank just behind the _Iron Victory_, joined in with a volley of arrows, bringing down anybody that was still outside the city gates. By this time, the _Iron Victory _had docked, and its crew were streaming off the ship, swords, axes and flaming brands being wielded above their heads. Cries of _Greyjoy! _and _Iron Islands! _were let loose.

When Aeron's ship was close to as close as it could get to land, he ordered his crew to throw grappling hooks over onto the nearest ship of the royal fleet. As he walked the deck, men ran back and forth, taking up arms and preparing to board the other ship. Aeron himself took up a flaming brand in one hand and a dirk in the other.

When the two ships collided with a light _crash_ Aeron shouted 'Board it! Board the bitch!'

His crew began vaulting the rails and running aboard the ship of the royal fleet. The only crew that were onboard were loading on stock and provisions, so they were unprepared for combat, but that meant nothing to Aeron or Victarian. The Ironborne crew cut them down all the same, sword and axe and dirk stabbing and slashing.

An aging, long-haired fisherman tried to dart past Aeron and dive into the sea, but one swift slash from his dirk and the man's throat was opened from ear to ear, blood spurting out and the fool collapsing to the deck.

The crews of the _Iron Victory _and _Grief_ had now boarded other ships as well, but from the ground, not from their own ships. Victarian's crew had already set the ship they were on afire, and they were now leaving that ship to board another.

Aeron turned back to his own crew. 'Burn it!' he shouted, 'burn it all!'


	4. Stannis I

The small council had been called on an urgent matter, so Stannis had wasted no time in attending it. He was not the first to arrive, finding the king, his Hand and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard already seated.

'Your Grace,' Stannis Baratheon bowed his head.

'Brother,' answered Robert, not in any particular fondness, 'be seated.'

Stannis found his seat next to Ser Barristan Selmy, nodding in greeting as he sat.

Robert was visibly impatient; his eyes were narrowed and he was breathing heavily. 'Where are the rest, damn 'em?'

'I recall Lord Renly saying he had business to attend to,' said Jon Arryn.

'Business?' repeated the king, 'whatever business he's attending I can guarantee you it's not more bloody important than this business!'

The Hand of the King shrugged and grimaced.

It was another five minutes before the rest of the council arrived, led by Lord Petyr Baelish, with Grand Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys following. Renly took his seat last next to Stannis and had an easy grin on his face. 'This must be an matter if you've attending, Your Grace,' he joked.

Robert was not amused, 'The royal fleet stand afire in Lannisport and you jest with me?'

Renly lowered his eyes and said nothing more.

When Robert didn't continue speaking, Jon explained the situation. 'At dusk yesterday, a large force of Ironborne ships arrived in Lannisport. They proceeded to cut down anybody in sight on the port and set fire to the entire royal fleet.'

Stannis heard Varys sigh, 'terrible, these Ironborne...'

Robert eyed Varys before saying, 'the sons of whores have taken it upon themselves to launch some sort of surprise attack on us. Lord Jason Mallister sends word from Seagard that he's spotted smaller raids along the coast. He's dispatched his son to deal with them, but he thought we should know.'

For a short while nobody at the table said anything, until Stannis broke the silence. 'What is your command, Your Grace?'

Robert sighed and answered, 'if it's war these fools want, it's war they'll get.'

'Perhaps,' said Jon, 'we may command Seagard to hold the forces and deal with them.'

'No,' answered Robert firmly, 'these Greyjoy's think they can rebel? I'll serve them what all rebels get.'

Stannis suppressed the urge to tell his brother that he once was a rebel as well. He dare not challenge his elder brother and the king like that.

'Perhaps it would be best to learn more about these assaults first, Your Grace,' suggested Baelish. 'If we throw all of our forces at them at once blindly, we may not know what it is they have planned.'

'We'll learn that soon enough, Lord Baelish, believe me,' said the king. 'One way or the other.'

Lord Baelish nodded curtly and said no more.

Varys decided now was the time to speak up. 'Your Grace,' he intoned, 'my little birds suggest that the reason behind this violence may be because Balon Greyjoy, lord of Pyke, has been crowned King of the Iron Islands.'

Robert did not look pleased. 'Yet you wait until now to say anything about, Lord Varys?'

Varys raised his powdered hands in hopelessness, 'I'm afraid I was not sure how much stock to put in it, Your Grace.'

The king rubbed his brow, 'if this is true, he'll have to be crushed right away, him and his damned rebellion.'

'Your Grace,' Stannis spoke up, 'give me command of our fleet and I'll bring the Iron Throne's wraith upon the traitors.'

Robert seemed to approve, 'very well, you shall have command of it.' He turned to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. 'Ser Barristan, you will have command of a force to subdue Old Wyk. I admit I know little enough of the Iron Islands, but I do know that Old Wyk is key to holding the Islands.'

Ser Barristan nodded solemnly, 'as you command, Your Grace.'

King Robert finally turned to the Grand Maester, 'Pycelle, you'll send ravens to the Houses Stark, Lannister and Tully. I want them alert of this and told to rally their forces and their bannermen's forces near Seagard.'

'Yes yes, very good Your Grace,' sputtered Pycelle, stroking his long beard as he answered.

'Very well,' finished Robert. 'This council is over. Get to it.'

The Small Council stood and dispersed.


	5. Jorah I

He wrapped his dark wool cloak tighter around him. A light rain had started to patter down, and the growing wind made him cold to the bone. He walked among the tall pine trees, the dark green leaves rustling gently above him. It often made him feel at peace, to simply walk among the trees and undergrowth, listening to the calm, quiet sounds of nature. Bear Island was the only home he had ever known, and he loved it, despite all its shortcomings.

A small stream ran between the trees from one end of the island to the other. Tiny fish jumped and swam in it, while rabbits darted between trees and bushes. Jorah Mormont stood motionless for a few minutes, looking around and taking it all in. Despite being lord of Bear Island, he often had a lot of time to himself. Usually he spent such time wandering the island and being by himself. Bear Island was a large island, but sparse, mainly filled with forest. The cold and location also made it a somewhat undeliverable for travellers. Most people that came to the North often just went straight to Winterfell, not bothering with any other Houses or their seats.

When the cold became more intense and the rain heavier, Jorah decided to turn back and head to the hall. It was a simple hall, made of huge logs and little else. Despite this, it offered warmth and a place to shelter from the harsh conditions.

Jorah passed the carving of a woman in a bearskin with a babe suckling at her breast in one arm and a battleaxe in the other. It often made him think of his aunt, Maege Mormont, who had five daughters and was known as short-tempered and stubborn.

Going through the simple stone and wood gates, Jorah entered the hall to be greeted with a gush of warmth. There was several hearths lit along the walls. The long oak benches and tables stretched down the length of the hall, where the Lord of Bear Island's seat was situated at the back wall. Only a couple of people sat on the benches having quiet conversations.

As Jorah walked down the hall was heard his name shouted. He turned to see his aunt Maege approaching him. 'Jorah, a word, if you would.'

'Aye,' he answered, meeting her down the hall.

'We've just got a raven from Winterfell, where they also got a raven, but from King's Landing.'

This piqued Jorah's curiosity. It was quite rare to get word from Winterfell, let alone words passed on from the Iron Throne itself. 'Tell me, aunt.'

'Balon Greyjoy's crowned himself King of the Iron Islands. He's started raiding the villages off the coast of Fair Isle and has burnt down the royal fleet in Lannisport.'

Jorah looked at her alarmingly, 'surely the crown is doing something about this.'

'Indeed they are. The king's called forth the Great Houses Stark, Lannister and Tully. Each House was to inform their bannermen of this and call them forth to action.'

'And that's what was in the letter from Winterfell?'

'Aye, they're summoning us by the word of the king to amass near Seagard.'

_A battle. A chance for glory._

'Then Bear Island shall go,' answered Lord Jorah Mormont.


	6. Jason II

'M'lord!'

Jason Mallister turned to see a soldier with a grey eagle printed on purple, the sigil of House Mallister, rushing towards him. He was wearing his sword at his waist and was panting.

'What is it? What's happened?'

Between gasping breathes the soldier answered, 'a... force of... Ironborne ships... have landed... at the shore below... my lord...'

_Seven hells, so soon._

'What are their numbers?' Jason demanded.

'Allan reckons... about ten ships... maybe three hundred... footmen.'

'Have our forces engaged in battle with them as of yet?'

'Our archers have managed to hold them back for now, but soon they'll be in the town.'

'Gather the rest of the garrison and tell them to head down to the shore to assist the archers in holding the Ironborne.'

'Yes m'lord.'

'Where is my son? Has he returned to Seagard yet?'

'Your son is the one commanding the archers at the moment, m'lord.'

'Good, go do as I have commanded now.'

'Yes m'lord.' The soldier turned and ran back the way he had come.

Jason had at least hoped that Patrek's counter attack on the Ironborne would hold them back for longer, but that seemed to be not the case. Seagard's garrison numbered to five hundred, nearly a third more than the invading Ironborne, but Jason knew better than to underestimate them.

Leaving the main hall he found Maester Willem in his chamber, hunched over his desk and scrawling on notes. He looked up when Jason entered. 'My lord.'

Jason cut to the point. 'The Ironborne have landed earlier than I expected. Three hundred of them. I need you to send a raven to the king or whoever's closest that they must hurry here.'

Willem dropped his quill and stood up, 'right away.' The maester rushed up the narrow winding stairway at the side of the chamber that led to the rookery.

Jason Mallister left the chamber and hurried along the hall, desperate to reach his son and the garrison before it was too late.


End file.
